


You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

by glitteratiglue



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, OT3, Pining Bucky Barnes, Polyamory, Steve and Natasha are little shits, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wonders if unrequited love is really the way he should describe it. More like unbending, unbreakable devotion.</p><p>Whatever it is, it hurts like hell.</p><p>(In which Steve and Natasha suck at flirting, Bucky pines obliviously for his best friends, and Clint has a thing for using other people's showers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I said to myself: what if Steve and Natasha are together, and Bucky pines over them for ages, not realising that they're both trying to tell him they feel the same? And then **evieeden** agreed, because she enables me way too much.
> 
> I listened to a ton of maudlin '80s music, and wrote this hot mess. AoU compliant, for what it's worth.

The Avengers kitchen is occupied when Bucky walks in, still bleary with sleep.

Tony is making blueberry pancakes, Pepper peering over his shoulder dubiously as he cooks.

“Morning,” Bucky says, rubbing at his eyes.

“Morning, murder doll,” Tony says. “How’s it hanging in —ow!” Pepper’s just dug him in the ribs.

Bucky suppresses a laugh.

“What he means is: Good morning, James. Would you like some pancakes?” Pepper says, with her usual resigned smile. She pours some coffee.

Gratefully, Bucky takes a cup and sits down on one of the stools. He’s just started tucking into some pancakes when Steve and Natasha walk in. They’re both smiling these silly little smiles, and Steve’s hair looks suspiciously messy.

Bucky’s heartbeat quickens.

“Ha!” Tony says, pointing at them with a spatula. “Don’t tell me, Romanoff. You finally took a ride on the disco stick of freedom?”

Natasha looks at Tony with narrowed eyes. “If I ever hear you use that phrase again, Stark, nobody will ever find your body.”

Tony frowns, as if he’s trying to figure out how much Natasha really means her threat.

“Go fuck yourself, Stark,” Steve says cheerfully, pulling up a stool next to Bucky. “Morning, Buck. Pancakes look good.”

“Tony,” Bucky says, suddenly unable to get any more words out.

“Huh,” Steve says. “Didn’t know he could cook.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” Tony grins.

Pepper deftly takes Tony’s untouched plate of pancakes from him, and passes them to Steve. “Eat, please,” she says. “Tony made them, but I’ve been supervising the entire time. He actually stuck to the recipe.”

“And what am I supposed to eat now?” Tony grumbles, and is promptly ignored by Pepper.

Natasha leans in to take a pancake from Steve’s plate, and the two of them exchange a small smile.

Bucky imagines he can hear something cracking in two; it’s not his heart, just the click of his metal fingers where he’s squeezing them into a tight fist.

Steve looks down upon hearing the noise. “Bucky?”

“Sorry.” Bucky unclenches his fist and notices Natasha watching him over Steve’s shoulder. “Um, congratulations, I guess.”

“I think it’s great,” Pepper says.

The bottom drops out of Bucky’s stomach.

Oh, fuck.

***

Later, Bucky finds out the whole routine was mostly for Tony’s benefit. It’s been going on for a few months; it seems Steve and Natasha really are that good at keeping their relationship on the down-low. Even JARVIS expresses surprise along with his heartfelt congratulations.

It doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

They’re his two best friends — the people Bucky spends the most time with, apart from the funny therapist with the glasses who writes things on her clipboard and holds staring contests with him  — and they didn’t even tell him.

It hurts. Thing is, Natasha and Steve not telling him is just one reason why it hurts.

The other, far more pathetic reason is that Bucky’s been desperately in love with them both since he recovered his memories. He just hadn’t quite worked out how to tell them. Now it looks like he never will. They’re happy, and Bucky doesn’t want to get in the way of that.

He’ll have to live with it.

***

At first, things don’t change all that much.

Bucky has his usual movie nights with Steve and Natasha (he and Steve have the last seventy years to catch up on, and there’s a whole bunch of Rambo sequels they haven’t seen). Sometimes he has to watch them make out, but they make an effort not to be too disgusting around Bucky; he appreciates that.

Natasha still drags him shopping for decent clothes, and Steve still spends hours playing video games with him.

But sometimes, Bucky notices the way they look at each other: private little glances that tell of a whole secret world he isn’t part of. It makes his chest feel tight.

He starts to distance himself from Natasha and Steve; they’re so wrapped up in each other they don’t even seem to notice.

Well. He’s used to feeling invisible.

***

He doesn’t think of it as a love triangle — there are no sharp points — more like a fucked-up Venn diagram: two hearts and minds intersecting, with him in the middle.

It’s the worst place to be.

Avoiding Captain America and the Black Widow is not an option, not when you’re an Avenger, anyway.

Thankfully, there are plenty of missions to keep Bucky busy in the meantime. He gets to spend a few days in Bucharest with Agent Melinda May, gathering intel on some Romanian terrorists rumoured to have links to an underground HYDRA cell. It turns out to be nothing, but it’s a welcome distraction all the same.

Bucky likes Agent May a lot. She’s good at her job, if a little robotic, and doesn’t ask too many questions.

So he’s surprised when she passes him a beer and asks if he wants to talk about it.

“Not really,” he says.

May gives him a shrewd look, and sips her beer. “Unrequited love, right? It’s a bitch.”

Bucky stares deliberately at his beer, not looking up. “Yep.”

She pats at his shoulder. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Nah. I’ve got a therapist.”

She laughs.

Later, Bucky wonders if _unrequited love_ is really the way he should describe it. More like unbending, unbreakable devotion.

Whatever it is, it hurts like hell.

***

Bucky thinks about discussing it in therapy with Dr Goodman and her bottle-top glasses, but what would he say?

Aside from her odd taste in eyewear, Dr Goodman is very nice. She listens and sometimes says helpful things, and she was the one who originally taught him it was okay to cry (since then, Bucky's gotten ace at crying, usually late at night in his bed: he could probably win the Olympics of manly tears). He's not afraid of her judging him; he just doesn't see what good it would do to tell her.

It’s easier for Bucky to talk about the terrible things he did under HYDRA’s control than it is for him to say the words: _I’m in love with my best friends._ But he’s already spent the past year going over the details of his life as the Winter Soldier, and he's starting to run out of things to say.

After a lot of long silences, the doctor suggests they taper it down to once a week.

He isn’t complaining. The one thing he isn’t talking about is the one thing Dr Goodman can’t help him with.

***

Bucky starts to wonder if the only reason he’s lusting after his best friends is simply a lack of action. After all, it  _has_  been seventy years.

With that in mind, he goes to a bar and picks up a woman. The sex is embarrassingly brief — turns out it isn’t exactly like riding a bike — but he thankfully manages to talk himself into round two, and bam: apparently he still remembers a few things.

Marie is friendly and relaxed about the whole thing, and they exchange numbers politely, with the silent understanding they probably won’t call each other again.

Though he still isn’t quite used to the idea that in this century, men can openly be together, Bucky tries it on for size. It’s different, but good, too, once he figures out how it all works.

It goes on for a couple of months: there are a few women, a few men, and no small number of awkward conversations along the way. Bucky tells himself he enjoys it (and he does, sort of, it just isn’t the kind of connection he craves).

He bumps into Clint in the elevator one morning, after a late night in an unfamiliar bed. It’s too early for Bucky to feign any other explanation; he’s still in yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt, sporting a rapidly-healing bite on the side of his lip.

“Well, well,” Clint says, looking Bucky up and down. “Getting back in the world, are we? You go, Barnes.”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles, his cheeks burning. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“What, that you’re getting laid? Jeez, you’re more old-fashioned than I thought.” Clint snorts. “My lips are sealed.”

It’s then Bucky decides he doesn’t want to do it anymore. Sure, it’s nice to do things with his body that feel good, but in the end, he usually ends up thinking about doing those same things with Natasha and Steve, and that just makes him feel sad.

Bucky doesn’t like feeling sad.

“You okay?” Clint asks.

Bucky nods. He’s out of the elevator like a shot once the doors open, heading straight for his suite to get in the shower. He scrubs himself raw, wanting to get rid of the smell of someone else on his skin, someone who isn’t either of the two people he wants.

Dwelling on something you’ll never have is the road to heartbreak: Bucky’s known that painful truth since he was fifteen, when he figured out he loved Steve Rogers. It’s just he’s never figured out how _not_ to love him.

And then there's Natasha, the one bright spot in those terrible years when he was the Winter Soldier. It was a defiance for him to love her, a defect in his programming, but no less real for it.

It’s still real, because Bucky can feel the empty space in his heart where she’s supposed to be, and it hurts like hell.

You fucking coward, James Barnes.

His metal fist smashes a chunk out of the shower tile. He stares at the hole left in the wall, trying not to cry.

***

Natasha peers over Bucky’s shoulder into the mixing bowl. “Looks overbeaten to me,” she says.

“Wait until you taste it,” Bucky says, measuring out a handful of chocolate chips and tipping them into the brownie mix. He’s too used to Natasha trying to put him off to pay much attention to her.

Fact is, he is a fucking _great_ baker, and she knows it. He’s better than her, and that’s taking into consideration the fact that Natasha once spent months undercover as a pastry chef.

Turns out HYDRA’s meticulous approach to giving their Asset new skills ended up having some benefits after all: Bucky’s precision in most things he does is second to none (and sure, the way he came by that precision still keeps him up some nights, but he’s got to take the positives where he can). It works well for baking, anyway.

“You okay?” she asks, taking the spoon out of his hand to beat the chocolate chips into the mix.

He gives her a half-smile, and grabs the spoon back. “I’d be better if a little Russian troll wasn’t interfering with my baking.” And yeah, he’s referring to the fact she’s short, because he _can_ , and she probably won’t kick his ass.

Natasha pokes him in the side. “I’m still asking, James. You’re good at deflecting. I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

Now she’s looking at him, with sharp, knowing green eyes, and Bucky knows she isn’t gonna let this lie.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he says, and starts stirring the mix again. “Look, it’s not you, I’m just dealing with some stuff, okay?” The lie trips off his tongue easily, and maybe she doesn’t buy it for a second, but she plays along.

Natasha nods slowly.

Sometimes he finds it strange, that he can find it so easy to be in her company when he left two scars on her skin and more upon her heart. But then, she’s the one letting him be in her life. That part’s more remarkable than anything.

Bucky looks up to find she’s perched herself on the counter next to where he’s standing, small, bare feet dangling a foot from the floor. Her toenails are brilliant blue, and when he looks closer, he sees a tiny Captain America shield on each of her big toes.

The detail is exquisite; only Steve could have done it. He can imagine it: the two of them laughing together, Natasha wiggling her toes in Steve’s lap.

There are echoes of Steve in the new way Natasha smiles these days, the relaxed dip of her shoulders, the soft contentment in her eyes.

It’s what love does to you, and it looks great on her. It looks great on her, and Bucky hates it. He really is an asshole.

“What did I say?” he laughs softly, squeezes one of her big toes until she squirms. “Troll.”

She has to know something’s up with him, because she ignores the slight.

“Well, we know Steve’s going to eat the entire pan as soon as he smells these baking,” Natasha says. Then she sticks her finger into the bowl and licks the cake batter off it. “I might as well get in first.”

Bucky looks away, feeling the sudden urge to take a very long, and very cold shower.

***

The same night, there’s a knock on Bucky’s door.

He opens it to find Steve, clearly post-workout; he’s sweaty and out of breath, a towel around his shoulders.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky says.

He hopes he isn’t going to have to answer a set of probing questions from Steve about what the hell’s going on with him. But Steve’s posture is relaxed and open, nothing about his stance indicating unease.

“Mind if I use your shower, Buck?” Steve asks, with an odd little smile. “Clint’s tying up ours. He says he likes the water pressure better than his own.”

 _Ours_. Bucky rolls that word around in his head. He still doesn’t like it.

“Think that’s just Clint being an asshole, Steve,” Bucky says.

Steve shrugs and pulls off his t-shirt, dropping it on the hardwood. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Thanks.”

Bucky hopes his mouth isn’t open. He’s seen Steve’s naked chest before, but not like this. It’s sweaty and glistening, and Bucky feels like his throat is closing up.

Thankfully, Steve chooses that moment to go into the bathroom. Soon after, there’s the sound of water running.

It takes a minute for the implications to sink in, for Bucky’s brain to catch up with his eyes. Then he remembers Steve is in his bathroom. Naked in his bathroom, to be precise.

He can’t stay here.

In a panic, Bucky grabs his swimming trunks and heads straight for the Olympic-sized pool on the gym level. He swims laps until he’s exhausted and the plates of his arm are squeaking from prolonged water exposure (“Waterproof doesn’t mean  _immerse me in water for ages_ , Barnes”, Stark often says, on the numerous occasions he ends up fixing Bucky’s artificial limb).

When he returns to his suite, his arm’s still working, but Steve has gone.

The sweaty t-shirt is still on the floor. Bucky glares at it before dropping the shirt down the garbage disposal.

Take that, Steve.

***

Sometime after three am, Bucky wakes with the image of heaving, sweaty Steve in his mind.

He’s painfully hard, his cock tenting the waistband of his sleep pants.

With no small amount of shame, Bucky breathes out a shaky breath and shoves a hand under fabric to palm at his cock. He comes quickly, shuddering with it, and wipes his hand off on the sheets.

He shouldn’t want this. Not his best friend, who’s done everything in his power to make Bucky feel comfortable since the day the Winter Soldier turned up on Captain America’s doorstep and decided he wanted to remember how to be a human being. They’ve painstakingly repaired their friendship over months, and it’s stronger and better than ever for everything it’s been through. Steve goes with Bucky to baseball games and refuses to laugh at his terrible jokes, argues the toss with him about politics and fights him for the last pancake, just like he always did. He even lets him play The Smiths on car journeys (and Steve hates The Smiths: _"I don't get it; it's like happy music to kill yourself to. And what's with all the yodeling?"_ ). _  
_

Steve is also one of the few people who doesn’t treat Bucky like a crazy person who might snap and kill everyone in the entire building (and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t been afraid of doing that, but Dr Goodman says he's made a lot of progress; he still doesn't exactly trust himself, but he's getting there).

Natasha is another. She’s cut from the same cloth as Bucky, knows what it is to be seen as nothing more than a weapon. Plus, there’s their history to complicate everything. He wishes he could say it was nostalgia, the memory of the illicit pleasures they took from each other in the Red Room.

It isn’t.

Since Bucky came back to himself and was approved for Avengers missions, he’s been out on a few with just Natasha. Working with her feels symbiotic, a complicated dance they perfected decades ago, where they can read each other’s minds without thinking. She’s saved his ass as many times as he’s saved hers, and they’ve never needed an extraction plan.

She’s magnificent (and slightly scary) and he’s every bit as much of a fool for her as he is for Steve.

Bucky’s dick stirs with renewed interest. He jerks off again, thinking about his best friend and his best friend’s girl.

He feels like the worst person in the entire world. And he keeps needing to launder his sheets on a daily basis.

This is getting damned inconvenient.

***

The next morning, Bucky is standing at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch when Natasha comes in.

She’s wearing nothing but an enormous Captain America t-shirt that goes down to mid-thigh, her red hair loose and curling over her shoulders. She is utterly beautiful, and  _God_ , Bucky knows he shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be thinking about what she’s probably just been doing with Steve.

Shouldn’t be jealous of it, either. But he is.

Natasha looks at him. And fuck, Bucky’s never been much of a good liar. He blushes, crimson burning in his cheeks, spoon paused halfway to his mouth.

Maybe she knows. He suddenly feels like a total creep. Panic rises in Bucky’s chest; he shoves the spoon in his mouth and looks away. The cereal is sharp and sticky on the roof of his mouth. He chews and swallows before turning back to Natasha.

Natasha’s lips curl in amusement. “Morning, James,” she says mildly.

“Cereal?” he asks, gesturing to the box on the counter with Steve’s patriotic, cartoon face on it (Tony had decided it would be hilarious if he bought fifteen hundred boxes of the special Captain America edition Cap’n Crunch; the Avengers weren’t likely to be eating anything else for breakfast for at least the next year).

“Please.” Her grin is shark-like.

Bucky goes to the cupboard to get another bowl, feeling Natasha’s eyes boring into him the whole time.

Yeah, she definitely knows.

***

“Da da da,” baby Nathaniel coos, stretching out fat fingers to touch Bucky’s metal arm.

Clint is holding him, smiling at how clearly uncomfortable Bucky is. Steve and Natasha are snuggled up together on the couch across the room, but they keep glancing over at the amusing little tableau before them.

“I’m not your da da.” Bucky scowls, but he has to admit, the kid  _is_  kind of cute.

It’s better than looking at Natasha and Steve, anyway. He knows they’re the tower’s resident happy couple, and God knows they both deserve it, but sometimes it feels a little like they’re rubbing it in.

Bucky glances down to see Nathaniel grabbing at his left arm with uncoordinated movements. The baby leans forward in Clint’s arms, wriggling and trying to get free.

“What do you want, eh?” Clint murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “Want to go sit with Barnes, do you?”

Nathaniel wails pitifully, still reaching for Bucky.

“No,” Bucky says quickly. The baby looks small and fragile, and he isn’t sure he remembers how to be gentle.

“C’mon, Bucky,” Steve says, raising his head from Natasha’s shoulder. “Don’t be so modest. He’s great with babies. Had three younger sisters. I’ve seen him change a diaper in ten seconds flat, and that was back when diapers were safety pins and flannel.”

Of course Steve would sell him down the river. Bucky grits his teeth. “Fine, I’ll take him. But I’m not changing any diapers.”

A warm, squashy bundle is deposited in Bucky’s arms, and to his surprise, something in him still recalls how to hold a baby. Nathaniel smiles with his one tooth, a giggle bubbling out of him, and promptly starts to gnaw on Bucky’s metal fingers. Bucky lets him, grudgingly.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Clint yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “The little bastard kept me up all last night, fretting and whining. He’s an angel with you. You can keep him, Barnes.”

Tony comes in, box of Cap’n Crunch in hand. “So now we’ve got  _two_ scary Russian assassins who melt over babies. Who knew?” He shoves a handful of cereal into his mouth, crunching obnoxiously.

Bucky shoots Tony a murderous glare, and gets a laugh for all his trouble.

“Would you look at that,” Natasha says, pointing at Nathaniel, who’s now fast asleep in Bucky’s arms.

“Peace at last.” Clint grins. “Just kidding,” he adds quickly. “Laura’s on a girls’ weekend in Seattle; she left Lila and Cooper with her mom, but I figured it was a good chance for me and Nate to spend a little me-time together.”

Clint FaceTimes Laura and shows her Bucky and Nathaniel, just to prove it; she laughs, and tells Bucky he can babysit anytime he wants. He tells her he’ll think about it.

Tony gets bored and leaves. Clint goes to take a shower in Steve and Natasha’s bathroom, claiming he needs something to shake him out of exhaustion (Steve has since figured out that Clint just really, really likes Natasha’s strawberry shampoo, but won’t admit to it).

Bucky is left with a heavy baby asleep on him, with nothing to do but watch Steve and Natasha make out and whisper soft endearments to each other: it’s not really his idea of a good time.

So he’s surprised when they break apart and come to sit with him, one on each side.

“You look good with the baby, Buck,” Steve says approvingly.

“Doesn’t he?” Natasha grins, stroking an arm down Bucky’s side on the way to touch Nathaniel’s chubby cheek. Something electric jumps in Bucky’s stomach at the touch; he ignores it.

“I guess I’ll adopt a family of tiny Von Trapps, then,” Bucky says wryly.

Steve settles into the couch cushions, squashes up right against Bucky. He’s warm, so warm, his bare forearm pressing into Bucky’s flesh arm where it’s resting on top of the baby.

They’re both in close contact with him, enough that Bucky feels uncomfortably hot. He’s grateful for Nathaniel in his lap, because there’s no way he can consider any of the more inappropriate possibilities in his mind while he’s holding a baby.

Fiddling with the remote, Steve puts the baseball on low — the Red Sox are playing the Mets — and they all watch companionably until Nathaniel wakes up bawling.

Natasha goes to find Clint, taking the baby with her.

Bucky is left with Steve, acutely aware that he smells like baby drool.  They sit there, saying nothing, still touching. The Mets are losing.

“Not a shade on the Dodgers, are they?” Steve says.

“Nah.” Bucky can’t help but think of games they went to at Ebbets Field: cold beer and sunburn on the back of his neck, and Steve at his side, a lot shorter, but no less extraordinary than he is now.

“There’s no-one who understands but you,” Steve says, in a quiet, small voice. “Natasha, yeah, but she wasn’t there, you know. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s all gone.”

And Bucky does understand, doesn’t even have to look at Steve to know the grief written all over his face. It’s the grief of losing your entire world and everything you ever knew.

This is bigger than his stupid unrequited love: Steve is his friend.

“C’mere,” Bucky says, and pulls Steve into his arms, breathes in his scent: laundry detergent and a hint of Natasha’s perfume.

They hold each other like that for a while. It’s only a friendly gesture of comfort, but Bucky can’t stop himself from hoping a little.

***

“Ow,” Bucky says miserably, rubbing at the spot on his side Natasha's just kicked him in.

“Focus, James.” Her gaze is unrelenting.

They’re sparring in the gym, and so far she’s managed to knock him to the mat four times. It’s usually pretty equal when they practise hand-to-hand combat, but Bucky keeps getting distracted by her voice, the sweep of red hair when it falls into her eyes, the tiny beads of sweat on her collarbone.

“Again,” he says.

“Sure you want to get your ass kicked a fifth time?” she says, with a wicked smile.

“Try me,” is his barbed reply.

Thing is,  _he_  taught her these tricks, and she’s still beating him. It would be mildly humiliating if Bucky could bring himself to care.

A couple of moves in, it’s the same old story. He ends up flat on his back, Natasha’s thighs straddling his chest, pinning his arms to the floor.

“Uh,” he says, not even bothering to struggle. “Natasha, I can’t breathe so good.”

Natasha just laughs, and then she leans down and fucking  _kisses_  him. Her lips are soft, and curve against his mouth in a way he remembers. He opens his mouth, letting her slip him some tongue, feeling like his whole body’s on fire. Bucky’s glad he wore his baggiest sweatpants, because he can feel his dick already hardening.

To Bucky, this has all the hallmarks of A Very Bad Thing, but he doesn’t particularly care about anything right now, beyond kissing Natasha.

Then his mind catches up with what’s going on, and he tenses. Natasha pulls away, her lips shiny with spit, and wipes her mouth.

“Mmm.” She climbs off him, and the pressure in Bucky’s lungs lifts (doesn’t do much for the pressure in his dick, unfortunately).

Natasha is looking at the door. Bucky follows her gaze, and  _Steve_  is standing there, has probably been there the whole time.

Shit. Shit.

“Steve," Bucky says, when he’s recovered enough to speak.

He mentally starts running through any of the new moves he’s learned that might floor Steve, because if this turns into a fight, Bucky isn't sure he'll be able to win.

But Steve just smiles, calm as anything.

Natasha walks over to Steve and takes his hand, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He whispers something in her ear; she giggles, and Steve laughs, a deep rumbling.

They exit the gym, leaving Bucky lying there on his back like a tortoise that’s flipped its shell.

They’re screwing with him — have to be — he decides. It would almost be funny if it didn’t make him want to cry at the same time.

At least he can go and hide in the gym showers and jerk off. It’s a small consolation.

***

It’s been a week since the gym incident, and neither of them have mentioned it. Bucky has spent hours obsessing over the implications of the kiss, and come up with nothing every time.

Steve and Natasha invite him to their suite for dinner, and Bucky figures he’s got no choice but to accept. Soft jazz is playing when he arrives, and there’s pot roast and apple pie. Steve is wearing an apron. It’s disarming, and oddly adorable.

Bucky helps Natasha set the table, joining in with a few choice ‘kiss the cook’ jokes for good measure. Steve tells them to go fuck themselves, and they all dish up the dinner together.

Thank God, everything seems to be back to normal.

“When the hell did you learn to cook, Rogers?” Bucky shakes his head, incredulous, because the food’s actually really good. Natasha usually cooks when he’s over at their suite, so this is the first time he’s eaten something Steve’s made that’s not an omelette or a sandwich.

“Since I didn’t have you around to do it for me,” is Steve’s answer. He pauses with fork halfway to his mouth, and there’s sadness in his smile.

It tugs at something in Bucky’s chest.

They’ve never talked much about those two years before Bucky showed up on the scene, but Bucky knows from Natasha that Steve wasn’t good back then: he was drowning on dry land with no life raft in sight. Maybe, if Bucky hadn’t decided to come back to him, then Steve would have —

Bucky tries not to think about that.

Steve insists on doing the dishes, and Natasha and Bucky curl up on the couch with glasses of vodka (her choice, naturally).

“ _Vashe zdorovie_ ,” she says, and he echoes the toast.

The glasses clink. He looks around the room; it’s different since she moved in. There are kitchy crochet antimacassars over the top of the couch and armchairs (Natasha makes them in her spare time), and some bright wall hangings. Alongside the whitewashed walls and black furniture, Natasha’s small touches make the overall effect much more homey.

“You’re really good for each other, you know,” Bucky admits, taking a sip of his vodka. The burn’s pleasant and familiar.

“I know.” Natasha’s green eyes are sharp on his. “Steve's a good guy. We’d worked together for a while, but I’d only ever given it a passing thought. Then there was Bruce, and well. Yeah. You know all that.” She drains her glass of vodka in one swallow, and pours out another, offering it to Bucky.

Bucky gives her shoulder a squeeze and downs his drink. The whole Bruce disaster had happened before he came back, but he knows it was a bad time for her. Nobody likes giving their heart to someone and having it thrown back in their face; Bucky understands that part pretty well (he’s already given his heart to two people who don’t want it, who don’t even  _know_ ).

“We were good together too, I think,” Bucky says, his voice quiet. “From what I remember.”

His memories of Natalia from back then are hazy, but Bucky can recall the important things: how she was the first Red Room recruit to ever best him in hand-to-hand combat, the way she made him feel like something other than the Soldier, the sweet, sweet smell of her hair when it was twisted in his fingers.

“Sounds like it,” Steve says, coming in. He sits next to Natasha on the couch and kisses her, sweet and tender, but his hand finds its way to Bucky’s knee at the same time.

Bucky narrows his eyes, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Just like that, Steve takes his hand away. Bucky is stuck there beside the two of them, heart beating like he’s just run a mile.

He clicks his teeth together, afraid to speak. The moment passes.

Natasha goes to cut the apple pie.

Steve shifts into the space she left, curls up against Bucky, so stupidly warm and cosy that Bucky can’t help but snuggle into him, twist fingers into Steve’s worn t-shirt.

He’s instantly reminded how tired he is. Maybe he’ll just close his eyes for a second, here in Steve’s arms, where it’s nice and safe and nobody can hurt him.

Bucky never gets any pie, to his chagrin.

He wakes up to find his face buried in the couch cushions. The blinds are drawn, there’s a blanket on his legs, and he belatedly realises he must have fallen asleep on Steve.

How embarrassing. He hopes he at least didn’t drool on him.

All the vodka has left him desperate for a trip to the john, so he shoves the blanket away and heads for the bathroom. He’s finished up and is just washing his hands when he hears a faint sound from the hallway.

It’s a low, throaty moan.  _Natasha._  He’d know that sound anywhere.

Steve’s laugh rumbles, and there’s an unmistakeable creaking sound. Natasha gasps again, says, “Oh, Steve. Please. Yeah.”

They’re fucking. Bucky is standing not three feet from the bedroom door, listening to his best friends screw each other, and they know it. They’ve got to know he’s listening. Perhaps they’re even getting off on it.

Well, that’s fine. Steve and Natasha might think it’s a riot to mess with him like this, but Bucky is  _done_. He is so done.

He turns on his heel and leaves, making sure to bang the door loudly on the way out.

***

Four days later, Bucky’s still not speaking to Steve or Natasha when a mission comes up. They want the three of them, and Clint.

Damn it.

Steve's been watching him with a kicked-puppy expression, mouth turned down, and Natasha's piercing eyes seem to follow Bucky everywhere he goes. Bucky resolutely ignores them both.

Maybe he feels a little bad, but it'll teach them both not to stomp on other people’s feelings. At least Bucky is a professional when it comes down to it. He’ll handle the mission.

When he goes to get his weapons, he finds them both there already. Natasha is taking a last-minute inventory on her StarkPad, but she has a casual hand on Steve’s arm. They look serious and focused — every inch Black Widow and Captain America — but still entirely comfortable with each other.

It makes resentment flare in Bucky’s chest.

“Bucky,” Steve says, his face flushing. His mouth opens, then shuts again. “I —”

Bucky grabs his knives and sheathes them. “Save it, Steve,” he says. “I don’t need your pity.”

Natasha doesn't say a word, but she exchanges a guilty look with Steve.

Just then, Clint comes in, whistling to himself, headphones in his ears. Upon seeing the three of them, he pops out an earbud. “Somebody die?” he says. “You could cut the atmosphere in here with a knife.”

Bucky bares his teeth. “Shut up, Barton.”

He heads in the direction of their transport, kicking Steve’s shield over as he goes.

Sure, he’s being petty. But they deserve it.

***

The mission turns out to be a lot more difficult than any of them expected.

In a Staten Island warehouse, they find a nut job with a HYDRA-inspired grenade launcher based on stolen Asgardian tech, claiming he’s the rightful heir to Herr Schmidt’s destiny and wants to fulfil his mission of destroying New York. To complicate matters, the guy also has a Beserker staff, and several thugs protecting him.

Bucky rips a knife from his belt, draws it easily across a henchman’s throat. The body falls at his feet.

Clint’s footsteps are somewhere behind him, but Bucky hears him yell, “Barnes! GET DOWN!”

There’s a clang, and Bucky finds his metal hand pinned to the wall with a cuff. He strains against it, trying to break the vice, but it’s no use. Clint tries to get to him, but he’s tackled by one of the crazed subordinates and goes down like a ninepin.

The leader cackles, and points the enormous blue gun at Bucky.

Bucky’s already died once. He supposes he could do it again.

He’s already accepted it when there’s a flash of brilliant light, and two bodies slam into him.

When the smoke clears, Bucky is lying in a mess of shattered glass and dirt. He can see Clint in the distance, holding up the bloody knife he’s just used to take their assailant down with.

A heavy weight is crushing Bucky; it’s Steve and Natasha, who threw themselves in front of him just as the weapon fired. Steve is at the front, which means he took the brunt of the grenade, but it’s gone straight through him, right into Natasha.

Oh God. No.

He struggles, still trapped underneath the two bodies, trying to get free. From what he can tell, he’s unhurt, but he’s not worried about himself.

Clint is at Bucky’s side now, white and shaking. He breaks the cuff on Bucky’s arm, and says over the comm, “We’ve got a medical emergency. It’s Rogers and Romanoff.”

Steve and Natasha are both very pale and still. There’s a lot of blood.

Bucky goes cold inside.

***

Natasha and Steve have been in surgery for hours.

It takes a while for the doctors to stabilise Steve, but his healing factor kicks in, and that takes care of any immediate dangers.

It's not the same for Natasha. Helen Cho almost loses her twice, and Bucky can’t deal with it. When they bring Natasha back from the dead a second time, he stumbles to the bathroom and vomits.

He was mad at them both. He was mad at them, and they were still ready to  _die_  to save him.

***

Bucky goes back into the waiting area to find Sam crying, face pressed into his hands.

“Oh God,” Bucky says, his heart in his mouth. If the worst has happened and he wasn’t there, he’s never going to forgive himself.

“No, they’re alive,” Sam chokes out. “I just never get used to seeing him like this. Steve. And Natasha, she’s so tough, but —” He breaks off into more tears.

Bucky sinks down on the floor beside Sam, puts an arm around him and lets him get snot all over his shoulder. He ends up crying, too; he’s scared enough that he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed.

Helen pushes the door open, and offers them a box of tissues. She looks tired, and she’s still in her scrubs.

“They’re stable. That’s all I can say for now. We’re still working on them both.”

“Thanks.” Bucky blows his nose loudly, and starts crying all over again.

The smile Helen gives him is sympathetic, but she has to go back in. Anyway, Bucky’s got Sam’s very comfy and capable shoulder to lean on.

Clint arrives after the medics have patched him up, then Tony and Pepper, then Rhodey, until there’s a row of people sitting on the floor, waiting and hoping for news. They pass the tissue box between them (even Tony, though he swears it’s just allergies).

Given the fact the world still thinks he’s dead, Fury can’t come — he's somewhere in Europe with Hill and Maximoff — but he calls Bucky every hour for updates on their status.

***

“You’re a couple of prize assholes, just so you know,” Bucky says fiercely, from the chair he’s been sitting in for the past two days, give or take the odd disappearance to speak to the doctors.

There’s no reply.

Steve and Natasha are both sedated. She’s worse off than him; her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, only possible due to the ventilator that’s breathing for her.

The doctors have told Bucky that Steve’s rapid healing is taking care of most of the damage, but they need to keep him under for the pain. Natasha is another matter. She’s suffered horrific internal injuries: a collapsed lung, intestinal damage, a ruptured kidney and several lacerations to her liver.

Helen wasn’t even able to use her regeneration cradle due to the remnants of the Asgardian rounds left in the wounds; the surgeons had to do things the old-fashioned way. Natasha’s lucky to be alive at all.

Sam comes in, his face ashen. “Hey, man,” he says. “You look a sight for sore eyes.”

He passes a coffee to Bucky, and Bucky sucks it back in a few gulps, savouring the strong, bitter taste. It’s a reminder that there’s  _something_  real, here in this awful room where Bucky feels terrified and small.

“They did it for me. I should be the one lying here half-dead,” Bucky says helplessly, trying not to break down into sniffles like Nathaniel.

“I can’t speak for Romanoff, but you and I both know that nobody on earth can stop Rogers from doing some crazy, self-sacrificing shit if he thinks it’ll save somebody. He sure as hell thought you were worth it.”

Bucky forces a laugh, and that’s what breaks him. He starts crying like a baby: pathetic, wracking sobs that shake his body.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, and offers Bucky tissues. It’s a familiar routine they’ve perfected over the past few days.

Bucky thinks about Steve throwing his shield in the Potomac, ready to  _die_  for him; about being curled around Steve and Natasha on a couch, watching baseball; the warmth of Natasha’s kiss in the gym, Steve looking on fondly, and he says, “I love him. And her. I  _love_  them.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that part.” Sam bites his lip, trying not to smile.

“Do you think they —?” Bucky can’t even finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You mean you haven’t noticed? They’ve got it bad for you, Barnes. Trust me on that.”

“Oh,” is all Bucky can say.

“I’ll get some more coffee, shall I?” Sam gets up. He leaves the box of tissues in Bucky’s hands, and Bucky is grateful for the chance to recover some of his dignity.

The idea that they might want him back is a powerful one.

There’s just one problem: whatever way he thinks about it, Bucky can’t envision a reality where he gets to have both of them. Having either Steve or Natasha seems like far more than he deserves, considering all the reprehensible things he did when he was the Soldier.

Of course, Natasha had known that side of him. She’d loved him for everything he was, had slipped between the cracks of the Soldier’s brainwashed armour to find the man underneath. And he’d loved her, too, every last broken piece of him, until they took his memories from him.

With Steve, it’s different: though Bucky remembers wanting him, he’d never done anything about it. When they’d lived together before the war, he’d fantasised about having Steve, silently jerking off under the covers while he burned with shame. He’d hidden it as best he could, set up double dates for him and Steve —  and he liked dames, that wasn’t the problem, he just didn’t love any of them like he loved Steve — and that had worked well enough. After the factory and the torture, Bucky was fucked up enough that he couldn’t consider himself worthy of Captain America, not anymore. So that was that.

He didn’t think Steve had ever wanted him back, but maybe he was wrong.

Sam comes back with a couple of lattes and doughnuts. He holds Bucky’s hand and lets him cry until all the despair is wrung out of him. When Sam goes home to grab a shower; he tries to convince Bucky to do the same (“Barnes, you  _stink._ ”) but Bucky can’t leave them. He can’t.

Later, Bucky is dozing in the chair, half-eaten donut in hand, when he hears the monitor beep.

Bucky’s eyes flutter open to see Steve looking at him, awake.

“You look like shit,” Steve says hoarsely.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” Bucky rubs a hand at his blotchy face.

He sits carefully on the edge of Steve’s bed, and before he can chicken out of it, leans in to press a kiss to his lips. Steve’s mouth tastes like something died in it, but Bucky doesn’t care.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, reaching out a hand to rest it on top of Bucky’s. His eyes are already closing again.

***

A week passes, then two. At first, Natasha is kept sedated.

Now that Natasha’s vitals are stronger, Helen does another surgery on her to remove the remaining fragments of the Asgardian weapon. They get her into the Cradle the same day to repair the rest of her; Bucky just hopes it’s not too late.

He still spends most of his days in the hospital room, but every so often, he goes home to shower and change upon Sam’s urging.

Steve is recovering. He’s sitting up in bed, eating meals, monopolising the TV (baseball, of course) and most of the tubes have come out of him.

It's better for Bucky, having someone to keep him company, but all they can do is wait.

Natasha still doesn’t wake up. The doctors can’t explain it; the worst of her injuries have healed and she’s breathing on her own now. They say only time will tell.

It’s not good enough for Bucky or Steve. They watch her with anxious, tired eyes, and any attempts to distract themselves don’t work.

They don't make a big deal out of it, but sometimes Steve curls up in Bucky’s lap, or vice versa. Sometimes they kiss, too: chaste presses of lips that say the things they’re too frightened to admit without Natasha being there as well.

Clint comes by with some flowers for Natasha. He kisses the top of her head. “C’mon, Nat. Just wake up.”

***

“Bucky! Lila’s saying I can’t roll my tongue when I so can,” Cooper Barton says, indignant. He sticks out his little tongue, concentrating hard, and there’s laughter from Lila and all the adults in the room when he still can’t do it.

“Look, kid, it’s not something you can just learn,” Bucky says, exasperated.

“It’s a genetic thing, Coop,” Bruce says, from where he’s settled into an armchair with a copy of the  _American Journal of Physics._  “That means you can’t do it, but your sister can.”

(Bruce had come as soon as Fury managed to reach him with the news. He’d gotten the silent treatment for the first few days, but everyone knew he’d been through some rough stuff of his own, and gradually, they’d welcomed him back).

Tony exchanges a look with Rhodey and Sam. “Children,” he mutters.

“Not fair.” Cooper sulks, biting his lower lip.

Clint pats him on the head, laughing when his eldest son tries to squirm away. Lila is standing over Natasha’s bed, holding Nathaniel.

“Look, Aunty Nat,” she’s saying. “He’s bigger now. He still cries an awful lot, but he’s getting better at waiting for his feeds. Mom says I’m great at taking care of him.”

Laura Barton’s eyes soften, from where she’s curled up in the armchair on the other side of the bed. “You are, sweetheart. Aunty Nat’s going to wake up really soon, I hope.”

Bucky is strangely comforted by Laura’s soft words; he hopes they’re true.

Nathaniel squawks, as if sensing the attention isn't all on him.

Steve is sitting on Natasha’s bed, where he’s been pretty much the whole time since the doctors gave him a clean bill of health.

Idly, Bucky watches.

Laura reaches over to take Nathaniel, who’s started fussing and making whingey sounds.

Natasha’s eyelids start to flicker.

Bucky’s heart jumps. “Steve…” he starts to say, but there’s no need.

Steve is already gripping Natasha’s hand tight, murmuring, “C’mon, baby, wake up. Please.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the room. Bucky finds himself praying to all the deities in the world that this is real, that finally, she’s going to —

She’s awake.

Natasha regains consciousness in a room full of people, surrounded by laughter and love. It’s not something that would have ever happened to her in her former life, and Bucky of all people knows how much it means to her that they’re all here.

Bucky orders the room cleared when she starts crying — there’s no way she’d want everyone to see her like that — leaving just him and Steve.

“You scared the  _hell_  out of us,” Steve says, all choked up.

Natasha wipes her eyes. “Sorry. I was trying to save James’s life. I didn’t expect you to get in the way as well.”

Steve kisses her, a hand curled around the back of her head, soft and careful, like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. It makes Bucky ache.

He feels a small hand on his own, and realises she’s pulling him closer. Tentatively, Bucky leans in to press his lips to Natasha’s, and Steve kisses the top of his head.

“Thanks, I guess,” Bucky says, all choked up. “And don’t  _ever_  do that to me again.” He’s not just speaking to Natasha, and Steve knows it.

He watches them both nod.

Natasha’s green eyes look past Bucky’s shoulder, fixing on Steve. “He figured it out, then?”

Slowly, Steve nods. There’s a muscle going in his cheek, like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing.

Now Bucky’s the one who feels like a prize asshole.

***

Tony’s  _Welcome Back, Black Widow and Captain America_ party at the tower is going with a swing; Bucky has counted at least four Hollywood actors he recognises, and that’s with his own limited knowledge of current popular culture.

Waiters are circulating with trays of Freedom Shooters and Widow’s Bite cocktails, which the guests seem to be appreciating.

Bucky leans against the bar, sipping on a plain old beer. It’s not like he can get drunk, and besides, he’s happy enough just to be here with the two most important people in his life.

It’s only been a couple of days since Natasha got out of the hospital. The three of them still haven’t talked about things, but there’s been a decent amount of necking, usually on Steve’s and Natasha’s very big and comfy couch, and a lot of wandering hands. Nothing more, but Bucky is confident there'll be time enough for that soon, when they all feel ready (he's been ready since, well, forever, but he isn't the only person in this relationship, so he's vowed to be patient).

Natasha is on the other side of the bar with Steve, teaching him how to mix a decent Old-Fashioned. Bucky watches them bicker over the proper configuration of ingredients, smiling to himself.

“This is the best one yet, Buck,” Steve says, licking a drop from the straw Natasha’s holding out to him. “I’ll make you one next.”

 _God._ It’s borderline indecent, watching Steve do that, right in the middle of the party. Bucky rips his gaze away, feeling heat rise up his face.

He looks up to see Thor barrelling towards him.

“Ah, Soldier of Winter,” Thor booms, his smile broad. He envelops Bucky in a rib-crushing hug, before turning to regard Steve and Natasha. “I see you and the Captain have finally succumbed to the Widow’s Bite, eh?” He winks at Natasha, and she looks daggers at him.

Bucky stifles a laugh, but it’s the strongest reaction anyone has had to his new relationship with Steve and Natasha. Tony and Clint had just shrugged, like it was old news. He has no idea what the others think, but nobody seems to be paying his love life much attention, which is probably a good thing.

Natasha snakes an arm around his side, and Steve plants a kiss on his ear.

“Anyone for Asgardian mead?” Thor says hastily, producing an engraved flask  from somewhere within the folds of his cloak.

“I think I’ll pass.” Natasha smirks. “But I’m sure the boys would love to take you up on it.”

***

The faint buzz of the liquor in Bucky’s veins is fading already when the three of them stumble into his suite.

They’re barely inside before Steve slams Bucky up against the door. He kisses him roughly, all teeth and tongue and heated breaths; it's not how Bucky ever imagined Steve would kiss, but hell, he's good at it. When Steve grinds a thigh against the seam of Bucky’s jeans where he’s already hard, Bucky’s helpless to resist. He gives as good as he gets, breaking off to suck bruises into Steve’s neck. Steve tugs at his hair, and Bucky’s metal hand drifts down to squeeze at Steve’s ass.

It’s then Bucky remembers Natasha (not like he could ever forget her, the one good thing he remembers from his past as the Soldier).

“Hey, fellas,” she says, with a teasing grin from where she’s sitting on the bed, currently unknotting the straps of her high heels. “Don’t stop on my account. The show was just getting good.”

She looks great there, wearing the green dress that matches her eyes and fits her like a glove. Almost seems a shame it’s going to be coming off in a minute.

“You,” Bucky gets out in a rush, then he’s kneeling on the floor at her feet, stretching up to kiss her (because she really is that tiny; it’d bend him over backwards to lean down and kiss her from a standing position).

He feels Steve’s hands wrap around his waist from behind, Steve rubbing his fabric-covered dick against Bucky’s ass and mouthing a heated trail down his neck, but Bucky doesn’t let it break his focus.

He kisses Natasha with bruising force, licks into her mouth, uses all the little tricks he knows she likes until she’s panting, yanking at his long hair to pull it out of its carefully arranged bun.

Bucky feels fingers brush his stomach, and looks down to see Natasha’s slipped a hand under her skirt, rucked it up around her thighs to reveal an expanse of pale skin.

Meeting his eyes, she lets out a long, slow breath and starts to touch herself. Steve and Bucky have to stop what they’re doing just to watch, because, fuck, it’s the hottest sight ever: Natasha with a hand between her legs, bringing herself off.

Bucky twists around to exchange a look with Steve.

“Think we can do better than that,” Steve says, echoing Bucky’s thoughts. He lifts her and sets her gently on the bed, reaches around to tug down the zip of her dress. Natasha wriggles out of it, kicking off her heels so they clatter on the hardwood floor.

“Come on, then.” She grins, folding her arms across her chest, entirely in control even though she’s flushed and trembling already.

And if he wasn’t already, Bucky falls a little bit more in love with Natasha. He falls to his knees, mouths at the pink scar on her belly until she sighs, tugs him up with a hand to kiss her (and he plans to pay some attention to the scar on her shoulder, too; he’s never going to not feel awful about hurting her, but at least he can show her he's sorry, one kiss at a time).

Steve watches and waits, understanding they need to have this moment together, but Bucky hasn’t forgotten him. He reaches back with a hand to pull Steve closer, then gets to his feet, moving onto the bed next to Natasha. They shuffle along the mattress to make space for Steve.

Leaning in, Steve unbuttons Bucky’s shirt with careful fingers.

When Steve’s eyes flicker over the ugly scars circling the shoulder joint of his arm, Bucky winces.

“Hey.” Steve smiles. “It’s okay, Buck.”

He wastes no time in laying heated kisses on the bare skin of Bucky’s chest, scraping teeth over Bucky’s nipple until he swears and grabs a fistful of Steve’s t-shirt. And then Natasha leans in to trace the shoulder scars with her tongue, and Bucky shudders, her red hair caught in his fingertips.

“My turn now.” Bucky grins, pulls fabric up while Steve raises his arms. There’s a indeterminate expression on Steve’s face, and  _God,_ he’s fucking beautiful, all sculpted muscle with an edge of shyness. Bucky takes a minute to just look, and kisses Steve again, a brief, sweet press of lips.

“I’m feeling kind of underdressed over here,” Natasha says.

It seems she’s taken the opportunity to get completely naked while the two of them were busy. Bucky has no complaint about this whatsoever, and neither does Steve, judging by the way his mouth falls open at the sight.

Now Natasha is undoing Bucky’s belt, getting his jeans and boxers down his legs and off him before he even knows what’s happening.

Steve wrestles out of his own clothes, dropping them in a careless heap next to the bed, then there’s no chance of modesty left for any of them.

But Bucky’s not afraid. Not one bit. He's earned this, every second of it, and he plans on making it last.

“Gonna finish what you started, baby,” Steve says to Natasha, and it makes Bucky feel like he’s melting from the inside out.

“Get on with it, then,” she says, her tone playful.

Natasha lies back against the pillows, and Steve is shouldering her knees apart, leaning in to kiss at her pussy. She moans quietly when he starts up long, smooth passes of his tongue, reaching down to fist a hand in Steve’s hair.

Watching the two of them is like an electric shock to Bucky’s cock. It throbs painfully between his legs, and he has to lick his palm and reach a hand down to stroke himself.

His eyes are closing, and he’s completely lost in everything: the slick friction of his own hand on his cock, the wet sound of Steve’s mouth working over Natasha’s clit.

“James,” she says. Bucky’s eyes snap open. “Get up here.”

He crawls up the bed, landing in an ungainly sprawl across Steve’s legs, and bends his head to suck one of Natasha’s nipples into his mouth. Remembering something from long ago, Bucky bites down on the pink peak, and laughs against her skin when she lets out a high, keening moan.

Steve doesn’t stop what he’s doing, and Natasha’s thighs are starting to shake as he presses his face into her harder, but one of his strong hands curls around the back of Bucky’s bent knee, short fingernails digging into the flesh. It’s a small gesture of possession, and one that Bucky appreciates: Steve is telling him that this belongs to them  _both_.

Bucky moves his other hand back to his dick and stretches out his metal hand to pinch at Natasha’s nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“Oh, fuck _._  James, Steve, oh, God, I —” she cries out, coming, and Bucky can  _feel_  it, from the way Steve is gripping him tight, the way Natasha is shaking in his arms, her body twisting on the mattress.

Steve’s hand lets go of him, and just when Bucky thinks it’s all over, Steve shifts up her body in one sinuous movement and slams into Natasha, filling her up while she’s still in the throes of orgasm.

As Bucky watches, the searing tension inside him boils over, and he comes all over his hand in hot spurts.

When the haze clears, he can see Steve and Natasha moving together, her hands on his ass as he fucks into her with a brutal pace, all finesse lost from the need to just  _take_  her. Bucky’s other hand is still cupped around her breast, and it makes sense to move it between them, to make gentle circles over her already oversensitive clit.

Steve groans, “Oh,” and he’s coming inside Natasha, the tensed muscles of his arms shaking where they’re propping him up on the mattress.

She's on the edge again already, Bucky can feel it, and Steve keeps moving inside her even though he’s started to go soft. Bucky flicks his come-slick fingers over Natasha's clit furiously, and her back arches as she comes a second time, lips parted.

Steve’s body is still nestled between her spread thighs, and Bucky watches them kiss, still trembling from his own release. When Steve grabs the back of his neck and hauls him in for a messy, breathless kiss that tastes like Natasha, Bucky just groans into his mouth.

He's already getting hard again. It’s going to be a long night.

***

“Please,” Bucky rasps, voice ragged. Steve is kneeling on the floor before him, fingers tight on his hips, and he’s taken him right to the back of his throat, nose pressing to the soft hair at the base of Bucky’s cock.

Natasha is fit right against Bucky’s back, her hands stroking his chest. Then her fingers pinch at his nipple, and Steve does something sinful with his tongue. Bucky comes, spilling hot into Steve’s mouth, gasping, trying not to shove his hips forward when it feels this fucking unbelievable.

Carefully, Steve licks him clean, then straightens up. He reaches for Natasha, and she scoots along the bed and kisses him, wet and sloppy — right after that, when Steve tastes like _Bucky —_ and it's insanely hot.

Natasha’s mouth is shiny when Steve pulls back, and she laughs when she sees the slack-jawed look on Bucky’s face.

Now Natasha is looking at Steve, asking some kind of wordless question, and Steve is nodding slowly, moving to join them on the bed. She gets a small bottle of lube out of the bedside drawer, and Bucky finally comprehends.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Bucky grins. “What are we doing, then?” He shifts his gaze to Steve.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to fuck me,” Steve says, a faint blush on his cheeks though his voice is rough. “Uh, sometimes Natasha and me, we — so I’m used to it.”

“He likes it,” Natasha says, unabashed.

Bucky’s momentarily struck by the attractive image that conjures up; he makes a mental note to definitely watch the two of them do that sometime.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky looks at Steve. “You don’t need to  _ask_ , pal.”

“I do,” Steve says. There’s something serious behind his eyes, and Bucky realises why. Steve’s asking because he knows there was a time in Bucky’s life when he wasn’t allowed to make a single choice for himself. It makes something tighten in Bucky’s chest, how well Steve understands him even now, when he’s different.

“Yeah, Steve, I want to fuck you,” Bucky says, and he leans in to kiss Steve, just enough to get him worked up and breathing heavily.

“I’ll get him ready for you,” Natasha says, and  _fuck_ , Bucky wants to watch that.

He nods.

Then they’re both pressing Steve back into the mattress. Her hand slides lower, and Steve closes his eyes, breathes deep as Natasha presses two slick fingers inside him.

Natasha’s good. She opens Steve up slowly, until he’s panting with it.

Then her fingers are gone, and it’s all Bucky. He rests the metal hand on Steve's hip, trying to keep his breathing steady as he pushes inside.  _Christ,_  Steve’s hot and tight, and for a second, Bucky thinks it’s all over.

But then Natasha kisses Bucky's neck, murmurs, “Breathe," and he manages not to come.  

He's blindsided by a sudden rush of affection for her. She loves him and she loves Steve, and she’s letting them have this, because they’ve waited so long for it.

"Oh, God," Steve says, reaching up to push Bucky's sweaty hair out of his eyes. "You feel so good. So good. Please."

For a moment, Bucky waits, enjoying the way Steve fidgets beneath him, biting his lip.

“Know how many times I’ve thought about this?” Bucky says, leaning in to trace the shell of Steve’s ear with his tongue. Steve shakes in his arms, and Bucky still doesn’t move.

Natasha laughs from where she’s curled up against Steve’s side. “And I thought I was cruel.”

“Bucky, c’mon,” Steve says, with a soft whine.

Finally, Bucky starts up a careful rhythm. He leans down to press his lips to Steve’s, letting out tiny gasps into Steve’s mouth from how incredibly good it feels to have him at last.

Bucky doesn’t last very long, but that’s okay, because then he puts a hand on Steve’s cock, and so does Natasha. He lets her guide him, and together they stroke Steve to completion, until Steve gasps out "Bucky," and comes in white streaks all over his stomach.

***

“God, Steve,” Bucky groans. He’s sweaty and boneless, knees drawn up with Natasha at his back. Steve is deep inside him, and Natasha is pressing artless kisses to Bucky’s neck; she’s too spent to do much else.

By this point, things have all started to blur in one unending frame of pleasure and need.

He remembers fucking Steve, but that was only the start of it. Afterwards, Natasha had pleaded a little more recovery time, saying she was happy to watch for a bit. So Bucky had dragged Steve down to the floor and they’d kissed until they were both hard again (which took all of a minute or two, Bucky recalls). Then Bucky was getting on his knees, stretching himself open with lube-smooth metal fingers and letting Steve push inside him; it was fast and desperate and pretty much the best fuck of his entire life.

Bucky hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to join Natasha on the bed while Steve was still slumped on the carpet pile recovering. His face between her thighs, he’d licked Steve’s come from her until her legs shook and she screamed, and just when she’d stopped trembling, Bucky crooked the fingers of his flesh hand inside her and sucked at her clit, until she was clenching around him a second time (to his own surprise, it turns out he still remembers plenty of ways to make Natasha fall apart).

Natasha’s stamina is impressive, but even she can’t quite keep up with super-soldiers. She’s now leaning back against the pillows, her open thighs either side of Bucky while Steve fucks into him. Every so often, she murmurs encouragements into Bucky’s ear in Russian. They're not trying to leave Steve out, but it’s a way of acknowledging their shared past, and also, dirty talk in Russian is just super hot.

Certainly Steve doesn’t seem to mind; he’s much too focused on fucking Bucky into oblivion, and he's probably going to manage it. It makes Bucky blush to think of how slick and open he feels, his entire body reduced to nothing but its raw nerve endings.

Steve’s forehead is pressed to Bucky’s, and he’s breathing wetly against Bucky's skin with every measured, dragging thrust. It’s different from when they fucked on the carpet: achingly intimate and _real_. Bucky’s head is spinning, heat tightening in the pit of his stomach with every movement of Steve’s hips against his.

They’ve all come so many times he’s lost count, but Steve, the bastard, is determined to wring another orgasm from Bucky.

He rolls his hips into Bucky’s, aggravatingly slow, and Bucky mutters, “You son of a bitch.”

Steve just laughs, low and keeps right on going.

Luckily, Natasha takes pity on him.

She reaches around to wrap her hand around Bucky’s cock: long, slow pulls that have him gasping.

“C’mon, Buck, c’mon,” Steve says, thrusts deep, and along with all the dirty things Natasha is whispering into Bucky’s ear in the language they share, the way she’s touching him, it's enough.

Bucky comes all over Natasha’s hand, arching and shaking, practically folded in half from the weight of Steve on top of him. Steve follows him a moment after, with a low murmur of Bucky’s name against his shoulder.

Natasha wriggles out from behind him, rests her head on Bucky’s chest, right next to where Steve’s face is pressed.

“I really missed you, James,” she says, turning to look at Bucky, and something in her voice shakes.

“Pretty sure I missed you more,” Bucky says, unable to keep the sappy note out of his voice. He flattens out a hand on Natasha’s head, letting the red strands of her hair slip between his fingers.

There's a wet sound as Steve pulls out. He curls up on his side, leaning on Bucky's shoulder.

When Steve tilts his chin up to look at Natasha, open and honest, and kisses her softly, Bucky feels like his heart’s going to burst right out of his chest. But then Steve's eyes shift to him. All of a sudden, Bucky feels more naked than ever, despite the fact there isn’t a stitch of clothing on him.

“Did you always want me?” Steve asks, earnest. “Because for me, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heartbeat is roaring in his ears. “Yeah,” he admits, and it’s like a weight’s been lifted from him. “I used to fucking _dream_ about you, Steve. When they had me — Zola — the first time, the only thing that kept me going was the thought I might see you again, and I’d be brave enough to tell you. ‘Course, I wasn’t. You know how that story ends.”

“Yeah,” Steve says emphatically. “Right here. With the two people who love you the most.”

When Bucky chances a look at Natasha, she’s blinking back tears, and he has to stroke a hand across her cheek.

She moves, her curtain of red hair shifting on Bucky’s chest until she’s lifted her head to look at him. “Look, I know we went about things the wrong way,” she says. “But Steve and I were trying to show you that it would never be enough, not without you, too.”

“Exactly.” Steve nods in agreement; he looks quite proud of Natasha right now.

And Bucky knows, because he knows Natasha, that it’s her way of saying she loves them both.

He isn’t about to let them get away with everything, however. Even if they are both adorably dishevelled right now.

“When you say ‘went about it the wrong way’, you actually mean that you and Steve were unrepentant assholes, right?” Bucky says, and Steve actually cringes a little.

Natasha frowns. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. But you’re also the densest idiot I’ve ever met, James Barnes. We were practically laying it out for you, and _nothing.”_

“Careful there, Romanoff,” Steve murmurs. “That’s my best guy you’re talking about it.”

“Mine, too.” She grins, lazy and satisfied.

Oh God, she loves him. Steve loves him. They _love_ him.

And hell, Bucky must be getting soft with all this talk about feelings, because his lip is wobbling, and he could cry.

Thankfully, he doesn't (that really would be embarrassing).

***

They haven’t moved far.

Bucky is sprawled on the mattress, covered in sweat and come and aching all over; he isn’t sure he’d be able to move if he tried. Natasha and Steve are in similar states, lying across him in a tangle of warm, pliant limbs.

Natasha leans over and kisses him. There’s not much heat to it — they’re all too exhausted, and have all come far too many times to even think of going again — but it's warm and sweet, a kiss of love and belonging.

“So, at least we know that part works,” Bucky remarks, trying not to smile when Steve raises his head: his hair’s askew in all directions, lips bitten and bruised. Thoroughly fucked-out Captain America is a sight Bucky could get used to.

“Understatement of the century,” Steve murmurs, and lets his head fall back to where it’s pillowed on Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky pets at Steve’s hair fondly, and says, “Steven Grant Rogers, you suck at flirting. Just so you know.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” Steve props himself up on an elbow. He’s grinning that little-shit grin, the one Bucky remembers from the alleyways of their youth, Steve’s tiny fists raised and waiting for the next punch.

Natasha swats at Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, stop with the cute already,” she says. She presses a kiss to Steve’s neck and snuggles into his side, reaches up a hand to twine her fingers with Bucky’s metal ones.

They stay like that for a while, until it gets too sticky and uncomfortable.

Gingerly, they get to their feet.

“C’mon, my shower’s big enough for the three of us,” Bucky says, reaching up to flick his rat’s nest of hair out of his eyes.

In reality, it’s a bit of squeeze, and actually not the easiest to get yourself clean with two extra people in there, but Bucky gets to have his hands all over Natasha and Steve, and in his opinion, that’s worth any awkward bending and stretching to get under the spray.

“Damn it. Clint used up your shampoo again.” Steve sighs, holding out the empty bottle of  _Strawberry Essence_.

Bucky grinds his teeth. “For fuck’s sake. Doesn’t that moron ever use his own bathroom?”

“We’ll get him back for it,” Natasha promises, a note of scary Black Widow resolve in her voice.

Then she’s pulling Bucky into a kiss, Steve’s soapy hands are drifting down to cup his ass, and not much else seems to matter anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it: more than 12K of pining and porn.
> 
> Bucky and Natasha's Russian toast broadly means 'Your good health' or equivalent (feel free to correct me if I got it wrong).
> 
> Title courtesy of The Smiths (of course). It was a toss up between that and 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now.'
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](http://glitteratiglue.tumblr.com), if you want to join me in this hell of my own making.


End file.
